King Hazerial’s return to Siu Rial was greeted with raucous cheering in the streets. News of his victory over the pirates had traveled quickly, along with stories of the savages’ prince swearing loyalty to the King of Night and being paraded in a cage cart through every city between Siu Jinial and Thornfield. The war on the pirates was proceeding exactly as every peasant and commoner knew it would in the powerful hands of the strong gods’ chosen ruler.
In celebration of the victory and before the coming winter, a royal progress to the eastern lands was scheduled. By sunrise, every wagging tongue in Siu Rial agreed a dark cloud was headed for the Cinterlands and what remained of the rebellious House Mattius had better brace itself for stormy weather.
Etian suspected there was more afoot than a simple reassertion of dominance in the farthest-flung reaches of the kingdom. As if to confirm this, the night Hazerial returned to Castle Sangmere, the crown prince was summoned to the king’s private chambers.
The king’s armor bearer was busy removing the gleaming ceremonial pieces from His Majesty. Bloodslaves came and went, drawing a steaming bath for the road-weary liege, but Hazerial had ignored them, knowing nothing he said would leave these four walls on their tongues. The armor bearer was a former Royal Thorn who had been rendered deaf and mute for this post, and the bloodslaves had no more will than the furniture.
“House Skalia.” Hazerial jumped straight to the point. “You know them?”
Etian nodded, glad the king wasn’t in the mood to waste time with idle chat. “Lord and Lady Zinote. They hold the counties northwest of the Cinterlands.”
“They will host the royal household before we progress to House Mattius. There’s to be a tournament. You will pit your sword work against Skalia’s guard, then you will put on full display everything you’ve learned of the royal blood magic.”
“It will be as Your Majesty says.”
Hazerial assessed him, perhaps seeing the questions through Etian’s smoked lenses. “We give you leave to speak your mind.”
“Has Your Majesty received word of a threat from House Skalia which calls for such a display?”
“A Josean-blessed king presumptive should know that keeping overwhelming strength always before the subjects’ eyes averts threats before they bud,” Hazerial said.
“Then this visit is merely to preserve their loyalty?”
Of course not. Etian knew before he asked that it wasn’t. The Eketra-blessed king never did anything without myriad reasons. Hazerial was the embodiment of the strong goddess’s bloody web of the Thousand Strands.
“Four years ago, the crown entered betrothal negotiations with House Skalia,” Hazerial allowed. “You’ll wed Zinote’s daughter when they’re settled.”
***
That night, Etian trained with the Thorns who had returned from the coast with his father, two- and three-on-one. As he fought, he considered the news of his betrothal the way he would have studied an enemy before the attack.
According to the Royal Archives, Izakiel had been betrothed five times. The first had ended with the infant future bride’s death. Not necessarily suspect, as it had come in a summer of plague. Two more ended in the absorption into the Kingdom of Night of the states their families ruled. No need to keep rival rulers’ daughters under contract after they had sworn their lands, tributes, and allegiance to the king. The fourth had killed herself, but that was widely attributed to an unstable bloodline. The fifth had tried to run when her family was sent to the priests and had been torn apart by attack dyre.
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The betrothal of Lord Zinote’s daughter to Izak had been under discussion since just after the Cinterlands Rebellion, according to the Archives, but it had been moving slowly. Apparently, Hazerial’s chancellors disagreed with the head of House Skalia on the value of his only child.
Slated as Etian had been to serve his brother until death, the second prince had never been a part of the marriageable royal family. He, like everyone else, had assumed he would die unmarried, probably violently, while protecting King Izakiel VI.
It made sense that the crown prince’s betrothal contract would be transferred to Etian the moment Hazerial had designated him as next in line for the throne. A quickly produced son, with a future Commander of the Royal Thorns on his heels, would ensure that House Khinet retained its hold on the throne. Additionally, the Skalia holdings sprawled across eight counties and included one of the largest standing armies in the kingdom.
Even with all that in mind, Etian couldn’t shake the feeling that the betrothal was suspect. It put his back up in the same way a trap laid by an opponent always did during a sparring match or on the tournament field.
When the matches were finished, and the Thorns and prince were toweling off, Etian found Vorino, his former sword tutor. While Gander and Ruis would be more than happy to try their hand at strategy, between them, neither was particularly discerning. Vorino was an excellent strategist, not to mention he had a background in noble affairs. The sword tutor had been born the illegitimate child of a chancellor and raised as part of the household until the sentimental old man died and his legitimate sons shipped Vorino off to Thornfield.
“May I put a scenario to you?” Etian asked him.
“Try me.”
Etian shrugged on his shirt and tucked in the tail. “You’re a wealthy lord whose heir just died. Your second son is of age. Do you marry him off immediately to the first candidate you can find, or do you wait a few years to make certain you’ve secured the best alliance for your house?”
“Sounds like you want me to say you wait.” The Thorn scrubbed his wet hair with the towel. “But if I had an urgent enough circumstance looming to consider the first option at all, I’d probably hop that kid into bed with the first girl of his status I could rope into a contract.”
“So you choose the fool’s route?”
“Fool, maybe.” Vorino grabbed a bottle of wine from the nearest table and took a swig. “But maybe preventative of another kind of foolishness. Say, the new heir’s been under skirts that might ruin your family and divide inheritance. Or there’s an unmarried washer lady with a slightly older son who looks a lot like me, the lord, and is suddenly championing his claim to my holdings over the unmarried heir’s.”
Etian frowned, the list of possibilities sparking his instincts off in another direction.
“Or if your dead son had taught you a lesson about how hard it is to control a man with no wife and offspring?” Control the battlefield and you control your opponent. Control was the treasured weapon and weakness of the Eketra-blessed.
Vorino tipped his head as if acknowledging a hit. “Maybe a smart man takes it a step further and bumps off the older boy to make sure he’s got the second under control.”
“But if the second knows what you did, he can avoid falling into the trap.”
“Sounds easy, doesn’t it?” Vorino returned the wine bottle to the table.
Etian’s mind raced through scenarios. The lord’s heir could enhance security for his wife and children, or keep distance and coldness between himself and his wife, even avoid producing offspring…
Or kill the lord before the lord had his hooks in the son?
Without the Blood of the Strong Gods in his veins, no man could equal the King of Night, and Etian wouldn’t receive the Blood until Hazerial lay on his death bed. Although Hazerial had found his way around that, using his grafted brother Ahixandro against their father.
The Royal Archives held no account of their method—too dangerous to record something like that and leave it for just anybody to learn from—but it was an option to keep in mind.